#Get it instead of Jon sims it’s Jon stims

[vickyrose5903]

adhd Jon

I just drew some doodles of Jon doing my stims.

[dickwheelie]

@coulson-is-an-avenger thank you sm for the jonsasha prompt!! sorry this took so long but here's a fic about jon and sasha brushin each other's hair :) with a bonus gender discussion(tm)

___________

Jon leaned back against Sasha's legs where she sat on the sofa above him, feeling her gently tug his braid loose, his hair tumbling into her lap as she began to comb through it. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, letting himself relax.

"I've always been jealous of your hair," Sasha said, as she started brushing it out. "So long and lustrous . . ."

"Hah!" Jon barked out a laugh. "Lustrous is not a word I'd use to describe anything about myself."

"You don't give yourself enough credit. Maybe your skin needs work, but your hair is doing fine."

"Oh, well, thank you," Jon said. "Wait, my skin needs--?"

"Why do you keep your hair long, anyway?" Sasha went on. "I mean, it looks good, but you don't seem the type."

Jon snorted. "What does that mean?"

"Nothing," Sasha said cheerily. "Just, you know, the whole male academic persona." Out of the corner of his eye, Jon saw her hand wave theatrically at the words. "You dress and act so straight-laced at work, I guess I'm just surprised your hair didn't go along with it."

Jon worried at the hem of his cardigan. The soft, casual cardigan he'd worn to Sasha's flat because it was his day off, and he didn't have to dress in stuffy, professional clothing so nobody would figure out he was a fraud who didn't belong in a head archivist position. "I just always liked keeping it long," he said. "Couldn't tell you why. Just feels nice, I guess."

"You know," Sasha said pointedly, "I used to want to keep my hair long for reasons I couldn't explain, either."

"I--" Jon began to protest, then closed his mouth and tried again. "I . . . I've thought about it. Believe me, I've--" He laughed humorlessly. "I have thought about it. But I'm sure I'm cis. I-I mean, by now, I'd know otherwise. Right?"

Sasha hummed as she tugged at a stubborn tangle. "Not necessarily. I've met lots of people who didn't know they were trans until they were in their forties, or older."

"W-Well," Jon said, and then didn't know what else to say. For a moment, he just sat there, losing himself in Sasha's steady pulls of the brush, the feeling of her hands running through his hair. "I mean," he said eventually, "I'm not a woman. I know that much."

"Okay," Sasha said, and was quiet. Jon recognized her "letting him talk it out" voice.

"And I'm not uncomfortable with being a man." Jon sighed. He hadn't been prepared for this conversation, and he didn't feel like digging too far into it. "Maybe I'm just a man who likes having long hair. What's wrong with that."

"Absolutely nothing," Sasha said, and he felt her press her lips to the top of his head before returning to the brush. "I think it's handsome."

"Ah. Thank you," Jon said, with a twitch of a smile.

Soon Sasha had finished with his hair and tied it back up in its braid, and they swapped places. Jon could accept Sasha's compliments about his hair's lustrousness, or whatever, but faced with her dark curls he didn't understand how she could ever be jealous of his hair, or anyone else's, for that matter. Sasha's hair was so . . . he didn't even know, he just loved it. It wasn't quite as long as his, but it was a beautiful, rich dark color, almost black but not quite. The texture as he ran his hands through it felt astonishingly nice; he was reminded of the stim toys he used to play with when he was younger.

Sasha's hair didn't need brushing out like his did, so instead he just evened out the center part and ran through it with a comb. He spent the majority of the time carding his hands through it, careful not to tug on the strands. Sasha leaned warmly against him, her back up against his calves, her legs splayed out comfortably in front of her. Her head was tilted up at him and her eyes were closed, with a peaceful look on her face.

"How long did it take you," Sasha said at one point, her voice low and relaxed. "To grow your hair out."

Jon had to think a moment. "Last time I had it cut was . . . almost two years ago, now. I remember because I'd just gotten an interview for the researcher job and I wanted to look . . . presentable. Male academic persona, and all that."

Sasha laughed. "Right."

"Before that it was pretty long, past my shoulders. That was how I kept it at uni too. This is the longest it's ever been, though," Jon said, as he tugged at a strand of his own hair absentmindedly. "I guess the Institute's kept me so busy I forgot to get it cut again."

"Well, if you like it that way, why waste the money?" Sasha said, quite reasonably. "Besides, I stand by what I said. Your hair's a gift, don't waste it by cutting it off." She reached above her head and waved a finger at him. "Unless you want to. Don't let me tell you what to do. God knows I know a thing or two about other people telling me what to do with my hair."

Jon laughed. "I won't. I want to keep it long, anyway." He was glad Sasha liked his hair like this. Georgie had been the same way, encouraging Jon not to cut it. He'd had friends in the past express confusion about his hair, but he'd gotten pretty skilled at ignoring them. It took a job interview, apparently, to change his mind. Jon wasn't entirely sure how he felt about that.

Well, no, that wasn't true. Bad, that was how he felt. Walking around those first few months in research with his hair cropped short, wearing those stuffy outfits . . . he'd never felt more like an imposter. The day he realized his hair had finally grown back past his shoulders had been a very, very good day.

His work clothes hadn't really changed, and his persona hadn't gotten easier to play, but now he had his hair, and his nails, and even the occasional earring studs he'd wear, if he was feeling brave.

And Sasha. And Tim. He had them, too, and they were two very good people to have in one's corner.

Impulsively, he reached down and gave Sasha a hug around her shoulders. It was a bit of an awkward angle, and he had to lay his cheek on the top of her head, but she reached up to hug him back anyway.

"What's this for?" Sasha said, but she didn't let go.

"I don't know," Jon said softly. "I love you, that's all."

"Well, if that's all," Sasha said. She gave him a few pats on the arm, as well as she could reach. "Don't mess up my hair, now, or you'll have to comb it again."

"Oh, no," Jon intoned, "what a horrible fate."

"You're not funny, Sims."

"I'm hilarious."

Sasha grabbed his hand and kissed the back of it, which Jon suspected was a last-ditch effort to derail the conversation by flustering him. It worked extremely well. Jon busied himself by going back to her hair, and it was a few minutes later before either of them spoke again.

"I love you too, you know," Sasha said at length. "I know I don't say it a lot, but I do."

"It's okay," Jon said, and it really, really was. He knew Sasha couldn't see the wide smile that had just appeared on his face, but he liked to think she could hear it in his voice. "I know you do."